Signed /Dream Team/

16

I walk past George to take a seat on the couch, but he follows me. I don't mind it, but I'm still conflicted about what just happened, and some alone time would be nice.

He sits next to me and looks at my arm again. It's still disgustingly red; I hate my skin.

"Are you sure it doesn't need ice?" George chews on the corner of his lip.

"He barely even touched me," I shake my head. Clay's grip was harsh and rough, but it lasted seconds, so it's funny to even think about putting ice on it.

"Then why is it red?"

I don't feel like explaining my unknown genetics to him. Whoever my father was, that man had the genes responsible for this sensitive skin.

"It's a rash. I'm allergic to him."

George rolls his eyes playfully and laughs. Luckily, our conversation about my red arm ends on that, giving its place to a much worse topic.

"So why were you secretly listening to our conversation?" He sounds like a pissed dad.

"I don't know. Pure curiosity." No one will believe me if I lie and say that it was an accident. "Don't act like you've never done that before."

He's silent after my words. I appreciate the honesty.

"So what did you hear?" It's the second time he's asking this question. Makes me wonder what they were talking about.

"Why are you so worried about me  hearing something?" I frown at him, "Are you hiding something?"

"I'm not hiding anything. It's just.. it was personal, I'd prefer to keep it private. " he's still chewing on his lip nervously.

Now let's say that I'm right, and they were talking about Clay's ex. Would George be this protective of that conversation? As far as I can see, George doesn't care one bit about Clay's personal life. He surely doesn't care enough to respect the privacy of Clay's personal life; he's already shared way too many details and has made hurtful remarks while a random girl was present.

Something smells fishy, and it's definitely not the elevator this time.

"Guess it's not that private anymore," I try to play it off like I heard a good chunk of the conversation.

George raises a brow. He's not dumb enough to believe my non-existent level of acting, but he's clearly worried that there's a chance my words are true.

"So I guess you know now," he shrugs, voice full of confidence.

My intelligence and speech skills are not nearly enough to compete with him- or even anyone. It's barely enough to compete with lower evolutional species so I don't even know where I'm going with this act.

"Yeah. So are you gonna explain?" This is my genius plan of getting words out of his mouth.

He smirks. He has the pretty privilege too, this is not fair, my stomach is full of every type of insect including butterflies.

"I'm good, thanks," he's getting extremely cocky.

I take in a deep breath, surrendering. He looks satisfied, and when I cross my arms and do my best to look as pissed as I can, he scoots closer with a giggle and pats my back.

"It's okay, you tried your best," he mocks me but it's kinda hilarious so I can't be mad, "I'm proud of you."

And that had no right to hit that deep. I don't even know if I'm emotional or a slut anymore. I'm an emotional slut for him.

I know that whatever they were talking about is none of my business, especially after he mentioned that it was personal. But something tells me that I need to try to manipulate Clay and get him to speak. But for that, I actually need to get him to speak.. to me.

I guess it was never meant to be.

George goes to shower, Clay is not home and I'm manifesting for Nick to come back cause I'm lonely. But 15 minutes pass and I'm still alone, so I guess I have nothing better to do than to go workout. I hope George doesn't freak out when he wakes up and finds out that he's home alone.

I wear a hoodie on top of my sports bra and match it with a pair of gym shorts, not caring that I'm about to freeze my genitals during that 10-minute walk to the gym.

But you know what? It wasn't that bad. I know it's weird, but my legs rarely get cold.

Right when I enter the gym, I look at the treadmills and hope they're not all occupied. And surely they are. I have to scan the whole place and find something I'm in the mood to do.

As my eyes try to take as much in as possible, I see a guy benching. And the blonde hair is awfully familiar to what I'm used to seeing every day. I know it's him. Looks too hot to be him, but at the same time, it's him.

And when the guy sits up- yeah, it's him.

And holy shit.

The fact that I've only seen him in baggy clothing and had no idea he was built like a Greek god is almost offensive. I shouldn't look but I do. He's wearing a tank top, I can see the muscles of his arms and shoulders glistening with sweat as he's undoing his gym gloves. His hands must be soft, he protects them.

I'm not saying I'd drop to my knees for him, but I'd drop to my knees for him. Being single for 5 years is finally showing its effects.

I stare for way too long. Long enough for him to notice. Great, I fucked it up. And I'm stupid enough to think that the only way I can save this is by pretending that I wanted to bench some weights.

I approach him confidently. My plan would actually make sense if I had used this equipment at least once in my life. But I'm hoping that he'll leave before I drop the bar on myself and die.

I'm not surprised that he doesn't even acknowledge my presence. I start quietly taking off some of the plates he had on the bar. I have no idea how much I can manage, so for safety, I only leave one of the plates on each side.

Hesitantly, I lay my body down, hoping that if I drop it, it'll land on my boobs and ricochet.

And once I wrap my hands around the bar, he speaks.

"That's too much," I recognize that voice but decide to ignore it. It's just one plate, I'm not that weak.

But little did I know the bar itself weighed a lot. I managed to get the bar down from the upright parts that were supporting it, but couldn't get it up from my chest. And I'm cocky enough to still pretend that I know what I'm doing when in reality my arms were slowly giving out.

I was starting to think how unfortunate it would be if I died like this, but soon enough I see a hand wrapping around the bar and helping me push it up from my body. Clay pulled that thing up with one arm while I was trying to stay alive under it. Yeah.